"Sir—if that person is caught… if everything stops…"
"What do you mean?" Professor Dippet said, standing so sharply his chair nearly toppled. His voice was thin and brittle. "Riddle, are you saying you know something about these attacks?"
"No, sir," Riddle said quickly.
Dippet sank back into his chair, the brief flash of hope extinguished by disappointment. "You may go, Tom."
Riddle slid from his seat and shuffled out of the office. Elijah and the others followed close behind.
They descended the spiral staircase and emerged from behind the gargoyles into a corridor swallowed by the gathering dusk.
Elijah watched the Riddle in the memory with a detached curiosity.
Though he had sifted through these memories a thousand times, viewing them alongside an audience felt different. He watched as Riddle bit his lip, his brow furrowed in a mimicry of moral conflict.
Then, Riddle made his move.
He hurried through the Entrance Hall, but a tall figure loomed on the marble staircase, intercepting him.
"What are you doing, Tom? Wandering so late?"
"It's Dumbledore!" Ron whispered, staring in astonishment.
It was Dumbledore, fifty years younger, his long hair and beard a flowing auburn.
He looked vital, yet in the gray haze of the memory, Harry thought he looked profoundly sad—as if he were carrying the weight of a storm that had never quite cleared.
Elijah understood that sadness. Fifty years ago, Grindelwald was busy tearing the world apart in the name of the vision they had once shared.
While Harry saw a teacher, Elijah saw a man living in the shadow of a blood pact and a broken heart, existing not on hope, but on the grim necessity of atonement.
"I just had to see the Headmaster, sir," Riddle said.
"Alright, off to bed," Dumbledore replied.
He turned that penetrating gaze on Riddle—a look Harry knew all too well. "It's best not to wander the corridors these days. Since it has already..." He sighed, the sound heavy with a grief he couldn't voice, and strode away.
Riddle waited until the footsteps faded, then bolted toward the dungeons.
He didn't lead them to a secret passage, but to the Potions classroom. They huddled in the shadows for over an hour, watching Riddle peer through the crack in the door like a gargoyle carved from shadow.
"Don't be impatient," Elijah whispered to the restless group. "The one who opened the Chamber was hiding here. Him, and his monster."
Finally, a soft shuffling echoed in the hall.
A dark figure moved past their hiding spot. Riddle slipped out, silent as a ghost, and the group followed him to a small room. A hoarse, boyish voice drifted from within.
"Come… come out… into the box…"
"I know that voice," Hermione whispered, her jaw tightening.
They saw a massive boy squatting over a crate. Riddle stepped into the light.
"Good evening, Rubeus."
The boy flinched.
"It has to end," Riddle said sternly. "I have to report you. They're discussing closing Hogwarts. I know you didn't mean to kill anyone, but monsters aren't ideal pets."
"It never killed anyone!" the boy roared, leaning back against the door. A strange rustling and clicking sound came from the darkness behind him.
"The girl's parents are coming tomorrow," Riddle said, drawing his wand. "Hogwarts can at least guarantee to kill the creature that killed their daughter, right?"
"It wasn't him! It wouldn't! Never!"
"Get out of the way," Riddle commanded. A flash of light erupted from his wand, illuminating the boy's face.
"It's Hagrid!" Harry gasped.
The spell knocked Hagrid aside, forcing the door open. A massive, hairy, many-legged shape darted out with terrifying speed.
Riddle raised his wand, but the monster bowled him over and vanished into the darkness of the dungeons.
Hagrid lunged, pinning Riddle to the floor and howling in grief as the memory dissolved into a swirl of silver mist.
The group stood in the dark classroom, the silence heavy and suffocating.
"Mr. Riddle," Hermione said eventually, her voice trembling. "Could you have been wrong? About it being Hagrid?"
"He has a soft spot for monsters, as you well know," Elijah said, his tone carefully neutral. "Perhaps he didn't mean it, but the monster escaped. And now, someone has brought it back."
"But—" Harry started, then stopped. He remembered the dragon in the hut. He remembered Fluffy. He could easily imagine a young, naive Hagrid trying to "exercise" a monster he thought was misunderstood.
"I'm afraid that's the reality," Ginny said quietly. "Ron, remember what you wrote in my textbook about the most dangerous creatures? 'Anything Hagrid likes.'"
"You sound like Percy," Ron grumbled, though his defense of Hagrid lacked conviction.
"The monster killed someone," Elijah reminded them. "I reported him because I couldn't let it happen again. And I couldn't go back to the orphanage. I hope you understand."
Harry did understand. They all did. The truth was ugly, but it fit the pieces they had. They left the classroom in silence, burdened by a secret they weren't sure they wanted to keep.
The "truth" was out, and Elijah was satisfied.
Back in the Slytherin common room, he sat alone, contemplating the next phase.
He needed to escalate the attacks just enough to force Dumbledore out, without getting the school closed prematurely.
"Malfoy!"
A large, hulking figure approached. Marcus Flint looked like a disgruntled gorilla in a green sweater.
"Why aren't you at Quidditch training? If we lose to Ravenclaw, we're finished."
"I'm busy, Flint," Elijah said, not looking up.
Flint snarled, leaning over him. Since the "Dueling Club incident" where Ginny had humiliated him, Flint had been looking for a way to reassert his dominance. "I didn't make you Seeker so you could slack off. Your father's brooms won't save your spot if you're useless. If you don't get your act together, I'll kick you off the team myself."
He poked a thick finger into Elijah's chest.
Elijah's eyes went cold. He slapped the hand away with a sharp crack.
"Don't point at me, Marcus. Unless you're eager to be hung from the rafters again."
"You dare?" Flint's face turned a muddy crimson. "I'll turn your face into a pincushion, Malfoy. I'll make your teeth grow longer than that Granger girl's!"
Elijah actually smiled. The boy's idea of "malice" was so quaint. "Then let's see you try."
Flint reached for his wand, but Elijah was faster. Without even drawing the hawthorn wand, a lash of crimson light erupted from his bare palm.
"Expelliarmus!"
Flint's wand flew into Elijah's hand.
He examined it—blackthorn, likely dragon heartstring. Much more responsive than Draco's.
"Densaugeo," Elijah whispered, flicking the blackthorn wand.
Flint's front teeth began to grow at an impossible rate, pushing past his lips and down toward his chin. He clutched his mouth, whimpering in pain. Elijah wasn't finished. He cast a secondary jinx, and thick, black boils erupted across Flint's face.
"A lesson in respect," Elijah said, watching as younger Slytherins scrambled out of the room to find Snape. "I won't be at training. But I will be at the match. Don't test me again."
Snape arrived minutes later, his cloak billowing like a shadow. He looked at Flint, who was being helped up by two terrified third-years, then at Draco, who was calmly reclining on the sofa.
Snape saw through the scene immediately. He knew Draco wasn't this capable—certainly not capable of wandless magic or advanced jinxes. He narrowed his eyes, remembering Lucius's request to watch over the boy.
"What happened here, Malfoy?"
"Flint threatened me, Professor," Elijah said, meeting Snape's gaze without flinching. "He intended to disfigure me. I merely retaliated with the Disarming Charm you showed us. I seem to have a knack for it."
"Retaliated?" Snape's voice was a low silk. "You learned a combat-grade Expelliarmus from a single demonstration?"
"I've been practicing."
Snape looked at the sobbing Flint, then back to Draco, but spoke with a chilling, measured authority.
"Next time, bring your grievances to me directly," Snape said, his eyes lingering on Elijah. "I promised your father I would look after you. Do not make me regret it."
"Of course, Professor," Elijah said, the picture of obedience.